Ghost Ship
by BetweenSunAndMoon
Summary: (Pirate AU) Captain Christine Daaé is hunting for a lost treasure, and she's not the only one looking. But she doesn't expect to encounter vengeful ghosts, uncover the story of a forbidden romance, or find herself no longer able to ignore her feelings for her right-hand man Erik and childhood friend Raoul.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera.  
**

Prologue

The ship sailed beneath a sky with no moon or stars. Her name was the _Angel._ She was unusual in that her captain was a woman.

Christine Daaé, the captain in question, stood at the railing. She hadn't been able to sleep that night. When the ship's gentle rocking had been unable to soothe her, she had given up tossing and turning and come up on deck. The cold air did nothing to relax Christine, but it was better than lying awake in her cabin.

A light flickered in the distance.

 _What was that?_

The light flickered again, then a ship came into view, sailing just up ahead of the _Angel._

Christine gripped the railing. She was fairly certain ships weren't supposed to appear out of nowhere, much less _shimmer._

 _You're dreaming. This is a dream. It has to be._

Dream or no, curiosity won over terror, and Christine got out her spyglass for a closer look. The entire ship glowed a ghostly silver. It was larger than the _Angel_ and looked like a merchant vessel. She would have found it a splendid ship, if not for that eerie, spectral gleam. As quickly as it had appeared, the strange ship vanished.

Christine shivered, and not from the cold. _What just happened? Where did that ship come from? Why was it glowing? Was it a ghost ship, like the ones in the stories Father told me? Did I really just see a…ghost?_

She pinched herself. Yes, she was awake. What was this, then, if not a dream? Whatever it was, she suddenly didn't want to be on deck any longer.

Christine hurried back into her cabin and slipped into bed, listening to the frantic pounding of her heart. What had she just seen?

Ships didn't come out of nowhere, then disappear. And they definitely didn't glow...at least, ships made by human hands didn't.

 _Don't be silly, Christine. Those were just stories. They could never really happen._

But what other explanation was there?

 _If the lookouts saw anything unusual, they would have reported it. I won't say anything to anyone. They'll think I'm mad. And they might be right._

Christine yawned. Her blankets seemed wonderfully warm and comforting after the icy night air. She was tired, so very tired. Her mind had probably just been playing tricks on her, making her see things that weren't there. It wasn't long before Christine drifted off to sleep, her dreams haunted by silver lights.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: Special thanks to Igenlode Wordsmith, without whom I would never have written this chapter.  
**

Chapter One

 _The next day_

Shouts filled the air and sunlight flashed off weapons as the _Angel_ 's crew leapt onto the merchant ship's deck. A gunshot greeted them, and Christine heard one of her men scream from behind her. The shooter stood in front of her, reloading his pistol. He never finished—Christine aimed her own pistol and shot him through the heart.

For the rest of the boarding party, that was their cue. Shots echoed up and down the ship's railing, and several merchant sailors fell. The noise was deafening, but it was music to Christine's ears. The pirates ran up and down the deck, swinging their swords, yelling their war cries, and falling silent only when the sailors cried out for mercy.

Christine surveyed the deck. Every sailor had an axe, gun, or sword pointed at him. A few had even fallen to their knees in terror. She could see no one who looked like the captain. Christine stepped forward and seized the nearest sailor by the collar. "Where is your captain?"

The man lifted a trembling arm and pointed at the captain's cabin. "He—he locked himself in," he whispered.

"Coward," Christine muttered, releasing the man's collar and stepping back. "Erik!"

Erik, the quartermaster, looked up. "Aye, Captain?"

"You know what to do. Get these gentlemen in line. Gilles, Denis, come with me. We'll see if we can't persuade the captain to come out of hiding."

"Aye, Captain," all three men chorused. Erik might have been smiling; it was hard to tell with the black mask covering his face. He began barking orders as Christine strode off to the cabin, Gilles and Denis in tow.

Sure enough, the door was bolted. Gilles, a bulky man never seen without his red bandanna, raised his axe and delivered a blow that made the whole door shudder. Denis, whose customary grin was missing a few teeth, stepped up and took his turn. All three threw their weight against the door, which swung open. A bullet whizzed over Christine's head.

"You missed," Christine called, walking into the cabin. The captain was pressed against one wall, still aiming his smoking pistol at the doorway. Fear showed plainly on his face, but she couldn't pity him. He'd shut himself in here and left his men on deck to die.

"Please," he begged, "don't kill me."

"We'll see about that," Christine said coldly. "Your men have surrendered. There are three of us and one of you. Your pistol is useless, so put it down and come along." She looked over her shoulder. "Gilles, Denis—bring him."

"You can't do this!" the captain protested as Gilles and Denis each took one of his arms and escorted him out of the cabin.

"We can and we will," Gilles responded, shaking the arm he was holding. "Now be quiet, and the captain might go easy on you."

Denis, meanwhile, had taken the pistol and was examining it. "She's a beauty," he observed. "Much too fine to be in the hands of a coward," he added after a moment, shaking the captain's other arm.

On deck, Erik had the prisoners neatly lined up against the railing. A few of them glared at their captain. Others looked happy to see him firmly in the grip of two pirates. Gilles and Denis dragged the unfortunate man before his crew and halted.

Christine stopped beside them, faced the captive crew, and began to speak. "Right. I'm sure my quartermaster has told all of you what will happen if you misbehave, so answer me quickly and honestly. Is your captain a good man?"

One of the prisoners spoke up. "He was until today."

Christine nodded. "I see."

"You won't get away with this," the captain stated, his voice trembling. "My friends in His Majesty's navy will hear of it. They'll make sure you hang, each and every one of you."

Christine turned to face him, hand going to the dagger in her belt. "That's assuming you'll be around to tell them."

Gilles and Denis knew what was about to happen. They released their prisoner and stepped back.

Christine drew her dagger and, without ceremony, slit the captain's throat.

The captain had just enough time to look confused before his head fell forward and he crumpled to the deck. Some of the prisoners gasped or cried out in shock and horror. Christine felt a twinge as she looked at his body. Truth be told, she didn't like killing in cold blood, but knew there were times when it was necessary. It didn't matter, anyway. She couldn't afford to show weakness in front of her crew.

"That takes care of that," Christine said coolly, wiping the blood off her blade. "Now, are there any among you willing to join my crew?"

One of the men shuffled forward.

Christine smiled. "Good. You may step off to the side. As for the rest of you, since you surrendered without too much trouble, you will be set adrift with a day's worth of food and water. You're in luck, really; we're not far off the coast of Grenada. There's a chance some of you will live to reach it." She turned to Erik. "Is anyone hurt? I heard a scream as we were boarding."

"That was Pierre," Erik replied solemnly. "He fell into the ocean and did not surface again."

Christine bowed her head. "I see," she said quietly. "He was a good man."

Erik nodded.

The pirates had not been idle. They had stocked the rowboats with enough food and water to last a day and lowered them into the sea. A few had shoved the captain's body over the side. One by one, the prisoners boarded the boats; one by one, the boats were cast off and floated away.

Now the real fun could begin. Christine, her men in tow, scrambled down into the hold, where they found boxes and barrels stacked from floor to ceiling. Denis, without waiting to be told, forced open the nearest crate and whooped with delight when he saw pink silk staring back at him.

The man who had decided to join the pirates coughed politely. "If I may make so bold, Captain, you certainly picked the right ship to capture. We were returning from the south of Asia when you spied us. There's silk in these boxes, as that fellow just discovered, and porcelain, and ivory, and I don't even know the half of it."

"You clearly had a successful voyage," Erik observed, as he watched the men excitedly pulling the lids off the crates and barrels and proving the newcomer's words true. "Your name?"

"Galliard, sir. Matthias Galliard."

"I have a feeling you'll make a valuable addition to the crew, Monsieur Galliard."

As the crew carried their plunder from the captured ship to the _Angel,_ Christine noticed Raoul de Chagny, an old friend and a new hand, set down his burden and grasp the rigging to steady himself. He looked as pale as a sick man. Christine hurried to his side. "Raoul, what's the matter?"

Raoul smiled at her, but Christine thought she saw tears in his blue eyes. "Nothing, Captain. I'm perfectly well." He picked up the barrel and continued on his way, albeit shakily.

Christine frowned. She would have inquired further about his state, but this was hardly the time or place. She waited until everyone and everything was safely on board the _Angel,_ then hopped aboard herself. "Is everyone ready?" she called out.

Erik saluted. "Aye, Captain!"

"Then send her to the depths. We have no more need of her."

The pirates cheered as they tossed burning torches onto the now-empty ship. As the _Angel_ sailed away, Christine could see flames racing along the deck and licking up the masts and rigging. It would be a blaze on the water, a reminder to all who saw it that those who took to the seas and went on the account were not to be trifled with.

* * *

"I, Matthias Galliard, vow to honor the articles of agreement for as long as I sail under Captain Daaé's colors. Amen."

Matthias's new mates applauded his oath as he stepped down from the quarterdeck and was replaced by Christine. The crew fell silent, for they knew their captain was about to speak.

"Gentlemen," Christine began, "you have done well today. We have taken our richest prize in weeks. But not all of you have lived to tell of it. Pierre de Bailly, a faithful hand and a brave fighter, was lost in the boarding."

A murmur arose from the crew, and many bowed their heads. Christine paused a moment before continuing. "I know many of you have been on the verge of losing hope this past month. We hadn't seen another ship for ages. Supplies were running low. Tempers were running high. There were times when even I despaired. But good fortune has come our way. Though we have lost a friend, we have gained a new one, and wealth besides. Why not celebrate? It's been far too long since we last set foot on dry land. We sail to Tortuga!"

Everyone cheered.

* * *

Raoul couldn't get used to it. In his mind's eye, he still saw Christine slicing open the unfortunate captain's neck as calmly as if she were chopping meat. In the three months he'd sailed with the _Angel,_ nothing had changed. Sometimes the men were shot and sometimes they were stabbed. Sometimes Christine did it herself and sometimes it was done on her orders. But it was always the same in the end.

Was this his Christine? The yellow-haired, bright-eyed girl who'd laughed with him and romped with him on the beach and listened to stories with him by the fire? Christine's hair was still yellow and her eyes were still bright. But she was no longer a girl, and he was no longer a boy.

He couldn't hold the tears back any longer.

It didn't matter, anyway. Those days were gone. Better to be here, aboard the _Angel,_ bound to no king or country, than—no. Raoul shivered at the thought of his former life. He forced himself to concentrate on his childhood memories of Christine instead. The world had been so much simpler then. Before time and society had come between them, before he'd gone into the navy, before—no. He couldn't think about that. He _wouldn't_ think about that.

"Raoul?"

Raoul looked up to see Denis smiling at him. "You look out of sorts, boy. Come, have a drink with us. A drop of this stuff will fix you up in no time."

Raoul hastily wiped the tears off his face. "Thank you."

Denis led him over to where Gilles and another man, Nicolas, were sitting. They took their seats as Gilles poured each man a mug of rum.

"I propose a toast," Denis announced, raising his mug in the air. "To rum and women!"

Gilles chuckled and raised his own mug. "To wind and water!"

"To gold and silver!" Nicholas bellowed.

"To the captain," Raoul said quietly.

The other three exchanged smiles before proclaiming in unison, "Aye, to the captain!"

Denis, Gilles, and Nicholas all drank deeply. Raoul took a sip and winced as the rum burned his tongue. He'd never liked the taste of spirits. He didn't know why he'd accepted Denis's offer of a drink. _Because it would have been impolite to refuse,_ he answered himself. _And you're not so much of a fool as to be impolite to a pirate._

 _Your fellow pirate, remember? You're one of them now._

 _Yes, I know._

Some things, Raoul reflected, he was never going to get used to.

* * *

The Caribbean sun blazed down on the bustling streets of Tortuga. People were everywhere: seamen, whores, tradesmen, and others whose professions Christine couldn't guess. Drunken laughter and yells came from every tavern. Conversation flew back and forth in a variety of languages. The smells of cooking food and ladies' perfume mingled with the smells of sweat and filth. Christine looked all around, trying to take in everything at once. Being here was a startling change from the dreary months spent at sea.

She almost didn't notice when she collided with someone.

"Oof," Christine managed, staggering back a few steps. The other, a man roughly a head taller than she was, did the same, but recovered more quickly than she did. "I beg your pardon, sir," he said. "I didn't see you there."

Christine smiled at him. "That's all right. It's my fault entirely; I wasn't looking where I was going."

"No harm done, then." The man straightened his hat and extended his hand. "Victor Charron, captain of the _White Tiger,_ at your service."

Christine shook his hand. "Christopher Daaé, captain of the _Angel._ Likewise."

"Well met, Captain." Victor pointed to a pub called the Chinese Lantern. "I was just about to have a drink there. Would you care to join me?"

"I would like that very much. Thank you." The pair started off in the direction of the pub.

As they walked, Christine observed her new acquaintance. He couldn't have been much older than herself. His hair was dark and tied back; his skin was browned from the sun. He wore a coat that looked as if it had once belonged to a high-ranking naval officer. His speech reminded her more of Raoul's than that of the average seaman; Christine wondered what sort of a man he'd been before going on the account. Victor noticed her looking at him and gave her a sly smile.

They walked up the steps and into the Chinese Lantern.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Two

Compared to some taverns Christine had been in, the Chinese Lantern was much smaller and not nearly as busy. It was dimly lit and smoky, with tables and chairs crowded together like fish in a net. In one corner, a trio of reedy musicians backed up a Mexican woman singing in Spanish. A harlot and her client were occupying a well-worn couch in the back. Victor and Christine threaded their way through the maze of furniture and took seats at the bar.

"Charron," the bartender, a man with an eyepatch, greeted Victor. "You're usually alone."

"That's _Captain_ Charron, my good fellow," Victor replied smoothly. "One glass of rum for me, and one glass for Captain Daaé, thank you very much."

The bartender gave Christine a suspicious look, but complied. Christine took a sip.

"How is it?" Victor asked her.

Christine shrugged. "I've had worse."

Victor nodded toward the bartender. "Don't let him hear you say that. He's under the impression he serves the best rum on the island."

"Why do you come here, then, if not for the rum?"

"You can find things out at the Chinese Lantern you won't learn from the usual sources." Victor raised his glass. "To success."

"Success," echoed Christine, and they drank.

"You drink to success," a voice said from behind them. "But can your success match that of Captain Samuel Irving?"

The voice's owner was a man of about seventy whose gray hair and beard looked like they'd never been cut. He wore a beggar's rags and leaned upon a stick, but his expression was as grave as a priest's.

"Who are you," Christine asked, "and who are you talking about?"

The newcomer spread his free hand. "I call myself Ezra," he answered in English-accented French. "I'm a storyteller by trade. The gentleman I mentioned is part of a story I know, if you're willing to pay to hear it."

Christine looked at Victor. He shrugged. "I'll pay for the drinks if you pay for the story."

She nodded. "I agree."

Ezra beamed. "Good, very good." He shoved a stool in between the two captains and hopped on.

"Fifty years ago," Ezra began, "Samuel Irving was one of the finest pirate captains ever to overtake a Spanish galleon. He was English by birth, but often said he had no country but the sea. People whispered that he'd made a pact with the devil, for his luck seemed almost supernatural at times. Indeed, there was no ship he couldn't take, no woman he couldn't charm, and no tight spot he couldn't get out of…save one, but I'll get to that. Irving began his career as an English privateer, but soon tired of having to turn over a share of his plunder to those in authority. He renounced his commission and set sail for the Caribbean, where he started a new life as a pirate. And he was good at it…maybe a bit _too_ good."

Christine frowned. "How do you mean?"

"Don't interrupt me, young man. Samuel Irving's first triumph came when he captured the _Beneficencia,_ a treasure ship bound for Spain. He went on to seize a series of merchantmen, all of which yielded rich spoils. Irving was an unusual fellow, though; he didn't let his men run out and spend their newfound money right away. Afterward, he boasted that he'd buried his treasure in a place only he knew and only someone as clever as he was could find."

 _Treasure?_ Christine sat up straight. This story was getting interesting. Victor, who'd been propping himself up with his elbow, did the same. "Sounds like a charming fellow," he commented.

"Oh, he was," Ezra agreed, appearing not to notice Victor's sarcastic tone. "But he had one fault, and that fault was pride. Emboldened by his successes, Captain Irving began raiding settlements along the island coasts. As his notoriety grew, so did rumors about his treasure, rumors which he himself encouraged. It was around this time I joined his crew. I was a young man of twenty, a fisherman's son who dreamed of great things. He showed me greater things than I could possibly have imagined. But pride goes before a fall, as they say, and so it was with Samuel Irving. His recklessness eventually provoked the ire of one Captain Thomas Belmont of the English Royal Navy, a man whose hatred of pirates exceeded only his love of money. Belmont proclaimed he would hunt down Irving and recover his treasure if it was the last thing he did."

A shadow fell over Ezra's face, and his voice became hushed. "I'll never forget the night Belmont and his men finally caught up with us. It was black as pitch, with neither moon nor stars to be seen. They took us by surprise. We all fought as hard as we could, and none harder than Captain Irving. But his luck had finally run out, and he was mortally wounded. In his final moments, Samuel Irving vowed that he, his ship, and his crew would haunt the Caribbean until his treasure was found. And whoever saw the _Eris,_ as she was known, would soon meet with disaster."

A chill went down Christine's spine. The strange glowing ship that had appeared and disappeared like a ghost…had that been the _Eris?_

"Those of us who survived were hauled away in chains," Ezra went on. "I was one of the few lucky enough to be pardoned. Once they let me go, I started thinking about the treasure. True to his word, Captain Irving never told any of us precisely where it was. But as I've said, he was a proud man, and he hinted at his hiding place often enough that I could _guess_ where it might be. I talked a friend of mine, a ship's captain, into helping me find the treasure. But we hadn't been more than a day at sea when a terrible storm hit us. The ship went down, and everyone onboard went down with her, except me. I managed to climb aboard one of the boats and was picked up by a passing ship the next day. When I got back to civilization, I learned that Belmont and his ship had been lost in that same storm. He was searching for the treasure too, no doubt."

"No doubt," Victor repeated. He sounded skeptical.

Ezra gave him a disapproving look. "You may think me mad, boy, but I assure you, every word of this is true. Why, shortly afterward, I encountered one of Belmont's men who'd escaped drowning. He said the night before the storm, he'd been keeping watch on deck. Before his eyes, a ship appeared out of nowhere, glowing all silver, like a spirit. Then, just as quickly, she vanished. He recognized her. She was the _Eris._ "

Christine felt the hairs rise on her arms. The room suddenly seemed much colder.

"I don't believe in ghosts," Victor said calmly.

"What did you do next?" Christine asked, hoping to get off the subject of ghosts. She tried her best to keep her voice from trembling. It didn't entirely work.

"For years afterward, I hunted for that treasure whenever I got the chance. But times have been hard, and I'm no longer as young as I used to be. As far as I know, it's still out there somewhere, just waiting for someone to discover it." Ezra took a long drink from Christine's glass and set it down with a flourish. "And that, gentlemen, is the story of Captain Samuel Irving."

"Well," Victor said loudly, getting to his feet, "that was _fascinating_ , but I'm afraid I really must be off. Goodbye." He tossed a few coins at the bartender and strode out of the pub.

Ezra watched him go. "Impertinent fellow," he muttered.

"I'm sorry—" Christine began.

"Oh, no, you needn't apologize for your friend. I've gotten much worse thanks than that. People don't seem to like my stories." He smiled weakly.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Christine said gently. "And he's not my friend. We only just met each other on the street. He had no right to treat you the way he did." She reached into her pocket. "Here's your money."

Ezra stared in wonder at the silver clinking into his palm. "You're very generous, young sir."

"It's no trouble." Christine climbed off her stool. "I hate to leave so soon, but I must."

"Goodbye, my boy. And thank you for the kind words. It's been a long time since I've had any."

"You're most welcome. Goodbye, Ezra."

Stepping out into the bright sunlight made Christine blink. She didn't immediately notice Victor walking up to meet her.

"Ah, there you are, Captain," he said as easily as if they'd known each other for a long time. "I wondered what was keeping you."

Christine fell into step beside him as he started heading down the street. "You shouldn't have been so rude to that old man."

"You sound like my mother." Victor smiled at her, a smile that was far too knowing. "And while we're on the subject, you remind me of her in other ways, too."

Had he guessed? "I don't know what you mean."

He stopped walking and turned to face her. "Don't play the fool, Captain Daaé. We both know Christopher isn't your right name."

It was no good. She'd been found out. It would be useless to try to deny it.

Victor laughed at her distress. "Don't look so downhearted. It's a very good disguise, one that would fool most people. My eyes just happen to be sharper than others. And I won't tell."

 _Don't trust anyone._ Erik's words from years ago echoed in Christine's ears, but she ignored them.

"Christine," she whispered. "My name is Christine."

"Christine," Victor repeated slowly. "Christine Daaé. A good name. Don't let it go to waste." He changed the subject. "Did that fellow tell you anything more about the treasure?"

Christine shook her head. "Not a word."

"Do you believe it exists?"

In any other circumstances, Christine would have said no. But in her mind, she saw the spectral ship against the black backdrop of night as clearly as if it was before her now. She recalled Ezra's story about the _Eris._ If ghosts could exist, surely so could hidden treasure.

"Yes," she answered.

Victor grinned. "Good, because I do, too. That bit about ghosts was nonsense, but treasure…now, that's something you can see and touch. Just think: gold, silver, and jewels finer than anything you or I have ever seen. A pity we don't have the first idea where to start looking."

The image of the ship faded, replaced by the spectacle of hundreds of gold and silver coins, here and there mixed with glittering gems. If she found those, she could become rich. She could give up piracy. She could return home, buy a little house in the country, and live out the rest of her days quietly. She would never have to steal or kill to survive ever again.

Victor's grin grew wider as he saw the rapture on her face. His words had struck a chord, and he knew it.

"A pity," Christine agreed.

They were interrupted by an explosion of angry yelling. Spinning around, Christine saw that a brawl had erupted just outside the Chinese Lantern. A shot rang out, then another and another. Both captains wasted no time ducking into a nearby alley.

They weren't alone for long. A bloodstained figure staggered into their alley and collapsed.

Christine gasped. It was Ezra.

Before she knew what she was doing, she was on her knees next to him. He was breathing, but his eyes were closed, and a red blotch was spreading across his chest.

"There's nothing you can do," Victor murmured, bending over them.

Christine knew that, but she didn't want to leave. She put her arms around the old man. At least he wouldn't die alone.

Ezra's eyes opened. "The treasure…"

"Yes?" Victor asked.

Ezra's hand gripped Christine's arm with surprising strength. "Take the map. Find it. Put them to rest. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Christine whispered. It was only half true.

"Antigua…the trail begins on Antigua. Follow…the sign of the moon. Watch out for…" The words dwindled into a moan. Ezra's head sank back, and his chest became still.

A lump rose in Christine's throat. She reached forward and closed his eyes.

"Out of the way, Captain."

"What?" She almost didn't hear him.

"Out of the way. I want to find that map he mentioned."

Slowly, reluctantly, Christine let go of Ezra and stood up. Victor knelt beside the body and started searching it. He held Christine's silver coins out to her. "Your money back."

Christine shook her head. "You keep them," she murmured. "I have enough."

"Very well." Victor turned back to the old man's corpse. "Found it," he announced after another minute, drawing out a rolled-up piece of paper. It proved to be a map of the Caribbean, with large black crosses marking several islands and the letter E scrawled in one corner.

Christine frowned at the crosses. "What do they mean?"

"I don't know." Victor tucked the map into his coat. "But I expect to find out." All the friendliness was gone from his demeanor now. Christine looked into his eyes and repressed a shudder. They were the eyes of a viper who had just sighted its prey.

"So," Christine said, as calmly as she could, "this is where we part ways?"

Victor nodded. "I am sorry, Captain. In a better world, you and I might have been friends. But it seems that is not to be."

"I'm sorry, too," Christine said. It was true.

"Farewell, Christine Daaé."

"Farewell, Victor Charron."

Victor started walking toward the mouth of the alley, then stopped and turned back. "One more thing."

Christine waited.

"I learned a long time ago never to underestimate a woman, so don't think I will underestimate you." He turned a corner and was gone.

Christine looked at Ezra lying at her feet, then at the place where Victor had disappeared. "I won't," she said softly.

Christine shook her head, gathered her wits, and walked out of the alley. She needed to talk to Erik.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note: I am so sorry I kept you all waiting this long. I got completely stuck after finishing the last chapter, and when I was finally ready to update, the site was having issues and wouldn't let me.**

 **Thank you all for your patience, and I hope this chapter is worth the wait.**

Chapter Three

Christine found Erik on the dock, drinking from a wine bottle and staring out to sea. He resembled nothing so much as a skeleton in a black coat. When they'd first met, Christine had been wary of him. But Erik had become her friend and her mentor, and the sight of his masked face brought relief now rather than fright.

She'd never seen what was under the mask, though.

Erik looked over at her. "There's blood on your clothes."

"It's not mine," Christine assured him. "Is there someplace we can go where we won't be overheard? I need to talk to you."

"Of course. Follow me."

Erik led Christine down the dock, along the shore, past a row of run-down buildings, around a corner, and into a yard littered with the damaged hulls of rowboats and fishing boats. Unlike nearly everywhere else on Tortuga, it was as quiet and as empty as a cemetery.

"This is your private place?" Christine asked.

Erik nodded. "It's rumored to be cursed. Some carpenter or other was killed while working here. They say his ghost still haunts the place and brings bad luck to anyone who sets foot here—if you believe in that sort of thing," he added dismissively.

Christine groaned aloud. Just what she needed—more stories of ghosts and curses!

"Why, Christine, what's the matter?"

"Nothing," Christine said hastily. "Have you ever heard of the pirate Samuel Irving?"

Erik nodded. "A clever fellow with an uncommon fondness for riddles, by all accounts. Why?"

"It started when I and another captain nearly knocked each other down on the street…" Christine described her encounter with Victor, Ezra's story, Ezra's mysterious final hints, the strange map, and Victor's parting words, omitting any references to ghosts or Irving's dying curse. She knew better than to leave them in; Erik would only laugh at her and tell her such things were nonsense.

"I don't know what it all means," she finished. "I was hoping you could help."

Erik took a long, slow sip of wine. "I'll try my best. Let me think for a moment."

Christine watched as he paced back and forth in front of her, occasionally pausing to take a drink. After a few minutes, Erik came to a stop and turned to face her. "You say the storyteller—"

"Ezra."

"Very well…you say _Ezra_ was carrying a map with various places marked on it?"

"Yes."

"And that he spoke of 'a trail' that began on Antigua?"

"Yes."

"Very interesting. As I've said, Irving greatly enjoyed riddles, puzzles, and the like. After his death, some claimed he left directions to the location of his plunder in the form of one last puzzle. I heard the rumors ages ago, but never believed them…until now."

"Then you think the treasure exists?" Christine couldn't stop a note of hope from creeping into her voice.

Erik tilted his head. "If it did not, would a dying man have begged you with his last breath to find it?"

"I suppose not," Christine admitted. "But we can't just go gallivanting off to Antigua with nothing more than a notion. The crew will think we've gone mad. And if by some chance we _do_ end up on Antigua, how will we know where to start looking?"

Erik chuckled softly. "Don't you worry about that. The spoils themselves were only part of the rumor. Samuel Irving had a very high opinion of himself, or so I've learned. A man like that would have wanted to commemorate his triumphs in some way. What better way than by planting a marker at the site of each glorious deed to create a pathway that, when followed correctly, would lead others to the evidence of his greatest victory? As for the crew…between the two of us, if we cannot convince them, then I am not Erik, and you are not Christine."

Christine still wasn't sure how they were going to accomplish that, but she trusted Erik. If he couldn't solve a problem, no one could. "How much treasure is supposed to be there?"

"Enough to make us all rich for the rest of our lives."

Christine grinned. "I like the sound of that."

"I knew you would."

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's find Kaveh and hear what he has to say."

Erik saluted. "A good idea. Lead the way, Captain."

* * *

It didn't take Christine and Erik very long to find Kaveh Shirazi, the boatswain and Erik's old acquaintance. He found them.

"Captain? Erik?"

"Ah, there you are, daroga! We were just looking for you."

"Good, because I was looking for you. I need to speak with you. I doubt it's urgent, but you never know."

"We have matters to discuss with you, as well. Would you mind accompanying us back to the _Angel?_ "

"Not at all, Captain. In fact, I think that's for the best."

* * *

The three of them sat at the table in the captain's cabin, with Christine at the head, Kaveh across from her, and Erik in between them, like generals planning a battle. The only thing absent was a map of the battlefield, but they would have one soon enough.

"Speak," Christine ordered. "What news do you bring?"

Kaveh sat tall and straight, looking her in the eye. "I and the other men have heard rumors, Captain. Rumors about the lost treasure of the former privateer Samuel Irving."

Christine couldn't help laughing. "What a coincidence! That's exactly what Erik and I wanted to talk to you about."

"Where did you hear these rumors?" Erik asked.

"Our newest hand, Matthias Galliard, was in a tavern called the Chinese Lantern and saw an old man talking to two people, one of whom he recognized as Captain Daaé. He didn't want to make his presence known, but stayed and listened in case the captain needed his assistance. Apparently, the old fellow was spinning a tale about Captain Irving's career and his own unsuccessful attempt to find Irving's plunder. Matthias had heard of Irving, but not of his supposed hidden fortune. He became so excited at the mere mention of treasure that he rushed out and told a good portion of the crew what he had heard, including myself. Now they're all talking about gold and silver and the like."

Christine sat back in her chair, mentally cursing herself for her negligence. She should have known someone was listening. At least it had been one of her own men who had overheard Ezra's story, not another potential rival. "I don't know whether to punish him for eavesdropping or congratulate him for being so inconspicuous that none of us knew he was there."

"Then it is true?" Kaveh asked.

Christine nodded. "The old man was Ezra, a storyteller who was sailing under Irving at the time of his death. The third person was Victor Charron, the captain of the _White Tiger._ " Her voice wobbled slightly as she spoke Ezra's and Victor's names, and she hoped Erik and Kaveh didn't hear it. "Captain Charron and I met on the street, and I accepted his invitation to have a drink. Ezra approached us at the bar and told us a story. But that's not all."

"No? What else happened?"

"A fight broke out, and Ezra was fatally shot. With his last few breaths, he urged us to find the treasure. He said 'the trail begins on Antigua' and instructed us to follow the sign of the moon, whatever that means. He died before he could say anything more."

"May he rest in peace," Kaveh murmured, ignoring Erik rolling his eyes. "Is there any more?"

"Yes. Ezra was carrying a map of the West Indies with several crosses on it, all in different places. It looked like he'd made it himself. Charron took it, though I'll be surprised if he can make head or tail of it. That's everything."

Erik laughed. "Well, Captain, it looks like our problem's been solved for us. Thank you, daroga."

"It does, doesn't it?" Christine agreed. "Thank you, Kaveh. Now go with Erik and get the crew back here at once. Tell them Matthias speaks the truth and we're putting the treasure hunt to a vote."

"Yes, Captain," both men replied in unison before walking out the door.

* * *

Christine surveyed her crew from on high. They looked like bees in a hive, moving around restlessly and whispering among themselves. Christine knew what their mood must be: half nervousness and half anticipation. She felt that way herself.

Christine cleared her throat. "May I have your attention, please?"

She waited until the whispering had died down before speaking again. "Thank you. As you may already have heard, it has come to my attention that the notorious pirate Samuel Irving hid a fortune in gold and silver somewhere in the Caribbean. There is enough for all of us to live out the rest of our lives in comfort. I admit to never having heard of Irving before today, but our quartermaster informs me that he might have left a trail of clues leading to his plunder, with each clue being hidden in a place where one of his endeavors had been particularly successful. I have it from the lips of one of Irving's former crewmen that the first clue can be found on the island of Antigua. Alas, we can learn no more from him, for he is dead."

"Such a pity," Erik murmured from where he stood behind her.

Christine ignored him. "If we choose to venture forth and seek Irving's treasure, we will have competition. Captain Victor Charron of the _White Tiger_ was with me when I learned about the treasure, and he heard the old man's dying words as clearly as I did. Even as I speak, he might already be getting a head start."

The muttering started up again, louder and angrier this time.

"Silence!" Christine shouted. "I said we had a rival; I did not say we had no hope. Samuel Irving was a clever man, and any challenge he thought up would be as much a test of wits as a test of skill and luck. And I know of no crew in the Caribbean more cunning than the one I see before me. Have we not been in far worse predicaments than this one that we got out of using only our heads? Captain Charron may have the advantage of a few hours, but we have the advantage of shrewdness."

She took a deep breath. "You know I would never force any of you to follow me against your will," she continued in a slightly quieter voice, "which is why I'm leaving the decision whether or not to search for Captain Irving's treasure up to you. If you decide it is not worth the risk, I will not press the matter. I will say this, though: it has been an honor sailing with you all, and I hope I can continue to enjoy that honor for a long time to come. Now, how many of you are in favor of the voyage?"

The only response Christine got was dead quiet. She bit her tongue, and she heard Erik shift his weight from foot to foot nervously. Finally, someone stepped forward out of the crowd. Christine's heart leapt as she recognized Raoul.

"Wherever you go, Captain," he stated, looking up at her, "I will follow."

"As will I," Gilles said, stepping up beside him.

"And I," Denis chimed in, moving forward to stand on Raoul's other side.

Matthias rubbed his hands. "I'm the one who started this whole business," he said, "so I would like to see it finished."

"You already know my answer," Erik said softly.

"And mine," Kaveh added.

A clamor of voices rose, all proclaiming their support. Christine held up a hand, and the clamor died down. "And how many of you are not in favor?"

No one answered.

"It's settled, then. My thanks to you all. We will make preparations and depart for Antigua as soon as possible. And if we happen to cross paths with the _White Tiger,_ we'll make her captain and crew wish they had never heard of us!"

The entire crew cheered. Those who wore hats threw them into the air. As she watched her rejoicing men, Christine couldn't help but smile.

They were ready, and woe betide anyone—or any _thing_ —that stood in their way.


End file.
